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Folks are, at their heart, selfish, and anything they tell you is more often than not designed to meet their own goals. I know, because I ain’t any different.
And even the smallest feeling of security is a comfort in a brutal, unforgiving world.
“Sometimes, when the world doesn’t make sense, it’s easier to pretend like there are other forces at work. But there ain’t. That’s just life.”
“It’s the American way,” she would say, watching from the porch as another family took up residence at Rose Hill. “You help as much as you can—but no more. You don’t think those founding fathers wrote all those pretty words about independence just to help the poor, do you? The books are right there in the library, Jane. They did it because they didn’t want to pay taxes, to have some king tell them the price of tea. And for that, they went to war, and hundreds of people died. If that ain’t capitalism, I don’t know what is.”
America had once been the land of opportunity, its possibilities endless for the chosen people who arrived on its shores. Now, it was a land rife with death, threats lying in wait around every corner, in each shadow, and in the eyes of the living left behind.
How can we make the world a better place if we are always at odds with one another for every single kind of reason under the sun?
